Having finished my yogurt in the kitchen (I have a truly great urge to dangle a participle this morning; as I have said before, I like to live on the edge), I was sitting alone at the table, looking out the dining room window at the bird feeders, when I heard this high-pitched whine from under the table. Curious, I looked under the table. Simon and Schuster, I might have known.
Simon was stretched out on the far side of the table with my empty yogurt container between his front paws; Schuster was on my side of the table facing Simon and the empty yogurt container. The high-pitched whining was Schuster, of course, trying to convince Simon to give up the container, which had obviously been licked clean, but which still had its bottom. (I now have a great urge to add "on"; dangle a participle, end a sentence with a preposition: what rule might I think of breaking next? There's no holding me back some days!)
Simon apparently did not want to remove the bottom then, nor did he want to let Schuster have it. It was his container, his bottom! I understood Simon's psychological predicament exactly, and I enjoyed the drama being played out under the table and at my feet.
Schuster from his position continued to whine and inch toward the can; he got his nose above it. I thought he might grab it and run; perhaps he would have (perhaps I should drop a semicolon), but Simon growled (or miss a tense change, growls), softly, very softly; Schuster slid a little to the right with his nose still over the can. Finally, having had enough, Simon grabbed the can and started to go to work on the bottom.
Holding it firmly between his paws (oh, the urge!), Simon tore it off, having to remove only two pieces (four, I discovered later, no record today) and swiftly licked it clean. The moment Simon grabbed the can, Schuster lost interest and left. What impressed me most about the little drama was Simon's restraint; just two very soft little growls letting Schuey know that he could not have the can. No ferocious displays of dachshund machismo, just a little brotherly nudging, and that was all it took.
Earlier this morning I was giving them milk bones, "Scooby Snacks"; I would call out the name of the next recipient, and while the other three would lean in a little, all respected the order I had chosen, unless someone dropped his or her biscuit; then the rule, apparently, is like that of the elephant going after food in the chicken coop: "Every man for himself!" he shouts.
However, should anyone drop his or her biscuit, apparently that biscuit becomes fair game for anyone. Simon dropped one and quickly recovered it, but everyone moved; Frollie, who is usually quite agile, dropped hers, but the only dog to lunge for it was (did you guess correctly?) brave (or foolish?) little Schuster. I was astonished. She takes away his toys; the other night she growled ferociously and attacked him for daring to bark with her at a dog on TV; she bullies him every day, yet he was the only one to lunge and challenge her; more interesting still, she ignored his lunge and simply ate the recovered biscuit.
Last night Simon was sitting with me as usual; we were eating a delicious Schwan's pizza (commercial!), and I was of course giving Simon pieces from time to time. He was watching me. The delightful element in his watching was the way it focused on the food, not really on me. His fixed gaze reminded me of a John Donne tortured image or conceit of a lover exchanging looks with his beloved; Simon's eyes never left the piece of food I was holding. I could move it anywhere around me (I did) and his gaze remained fixed. I tried to fake him out with a sudden downward thrust, but no luck; he was truly locked on, like one of those fighter pilots we see on the news about to destroy a moving Isis vehicle. I gave him the piece, whoosh, it was gone without even fire or a puff of smoke. Little Simon, not only a decider but a devourer, he of the all-consuming stare!